Your Secrets
by awesomegirl13
Summary: "The pressure is building higher than a skyscraper, and you are on the top screaming louder and louder for help, and the only thing worse than knowing no one can hear you is knowing no one would care if they could. But then there's her. She is hope.": Rated T for content matter. NOT INTERACTIVE! Thanks, -Awesomegirl13


**A/N: Well, here it is. I don't post serious fics that often, and hardly ever angsty fics, but I've actually been working on writing this one for a really long time. In secret of course, just to surprise you lovely fans. Hope you enjoy it, even though it's a lot different then my normal stuff. Oh! I almost forgot. _This is NOT an "interactive" story. The "You" the story is talking about, does not mean you as a reader. The "You" in the story is also the narrator, speaking as if it's a hypothetical senerio. _**

* * *

_Your Secrets _

* * *

The noise is piercing, and right in your ears in your head in your mind. Sharp, loud, high, ringing. You don't know what it is but the noise is so inhuman it scares you. You dare to look down, and you see what you knew you might find. The blood, everywhere, anywhere, on you. The sound, the noise it's deafening it's—it's coming from you. Your mouth. The mouth you used to use to laugh with, to joke with, to smile with. Screaming for help, for someone to come. Of course people come, but you look through the faces and nothing is the one you want. She isn't there, she can't be there, she'll never be there again. It's not worth it, it just isn't. Can't be. What's it worth?

The pressure is building, and you are on top of it all.

The pressure is building and growing higher and higher, it's almost like a skyscraper. Each somebody or nobody that comes along just piles on another couple bricks, until it rises higher and higher and so high that no one can see the top, but that won't do at all, because you're at the top. You're on the top and no one can hear you screaming for help, for some sort of relief, and the only thing worse than that is that you know as you scream that even if they did hear you they wouldn't care anyways and now you're stuck. No one can help you. No one wants to help you. You are just stuck.

Sometimes you wrack your brain, and actually _think_ for a really long time about what you're actually doing. Maybe while you're there you can think about how you got here in the first place. They, and by they I mean everyone, expects so, so, so much of you. They expect you to _try_and_try_and_try_. They expect that every time you fail you will _work_and_work_and_train_and_try_ so that you can be the very best. That won't work for you, will it? I mean, it's not like you volunteered for this anyways. You never signed up for it, never wanted it. You never _asked_ for your mother to be killed. You never _asked_ for your sister to leave. You never _wanted_ her to die. You never even wanted to live yourself. Of course, it's not like dying would be much better. At least alive you can get away from the source of your pain.

Don't worry, I know. It's not like you haven't thought about death. Haven't attempted it. You've done both. You've sought after it for so long; like it was oxygen you needed to live. Or poison you needed to die. Or both. First you sought it's meaning, then you sought it's presence, and now, after so long, you seek it's escape. You've been to the underworld more times than you would like. Every time you go you receive more duties, more is expected of you. You are always back on top of that skyscraper screaming for help, demanding your presence to be known.

You have always known something about your father. Your father is absolutely necessary to the fate of mankind. He knows it too, and he takes every chance he gets to remind you of it. Him and his gorgeous little wife. It's like you're just a pest that sits around. Why don't you just go away? He'd tell you to die, but then he'd have to see you more often. You are a worthless being, and if he didn't have some ounce of feeling for you, he might just smash you into the dust you belong to. If you died, no one would care. If you died, no one would notice. If you died, people might even appreciate you more. Or not. In the end though, does it really matter? You are worthless. You will become obsolete. In five hundred years, no one will have recalled or cared about your presence. Why do you even exist? So you sit. You let the tower fall with you on it. You see who might care. Why shouldn't you do it?

But then there is her. She is more than beautiful, she is stunning. The world might not see it, and in five hundred years she might just be as worthless as you are, but does that really matter? She's there. It's not right though. It can never be right because she's not there for you. You see her, and you want her, and you want her to understand you. You are practically begging for her to notice you even. You need her more than you need life, which, now that I think about it, isn't as much as you think it is. She's like this search light, reaching out in the darkness looking for something. Anything. And you hope. You hope that you might be able to offer her something, anything, but she still doesn't know your name.

Sometimes you follow her. Not in a creepy way but—okay, maybe in a creepy way. You just… you would give anything to see her smile. She's fearless, a leader, born to be someone and do something. You see it, and others see it, but does she? There was one time though. One time when you were walking, it was dark out. Probably past curfew, but who cares anyway? You heard a noise, a cry. You saw her behind a cabin. She was praying to her mother, begging her to hear her. It felt too sacred to hear, so you left.

Then she is just gone. Out. Almost like someone flipped the switch, and the light went out. It's the kind of darkness you'll find after looking at the sun, then falling into complete and utter black. You put one hand in front of your face, and you can't tell it's there at all. Sure, you could always wait it out, try to adjust to the darkness. Do you really want to do that though? Without her around it's not like you'll have much to live for anyways. You can be right back at square one again. No family, no friends, no purpose, and no emotions.

You expect the world to end. You wait for the chaos. You wait for the screams and the pain and the explosions. The apocalypse. Isn't that what they call it? You could only assume that when meaning left, everything else would too. It only takes so long for you too realize you might just be the only one who _reallytrulycares_. You might be the only thing more than condolences. You honestly have no where to go from here. Although you expect the world to end it doesn't, and people still call you, and people still want and expect things from you, and your father is still your father, and Persephone is still his wife, and your friends are still your friends and they don't care either way. The world is moving on and it expects you to take part.

You can't do it. You just can't. Can you? Is it even too late for some sort of redemption at all? Can you even try to make something out of the nothing you've become? Surely it wasn't always like this. You are power. You could do something. Your sister did it, and now she's a hero. She's in Elysium, and the rate you are going you'll never see her again. Is it too late? It has to be. Even if it isn't, you are in no way to try again. The reality is slowly slipping away from you. You realize after awhile that you haven't slept, and you haven't eaten for days. You must be hungry, but you can't feel anything. You don't know if—and is that her? Is That—?

You have to lose it. It's been slipping for awhile but it finally disappears. You held on until you couldn't even breath anymore. It's one or the other, you must make a choice: Your life, or your sanity? You choose neither.

The pressure is building higher and higher, and you feel on top of it all.

Then it happens. The noise is piercing, and right in your ears in your head in your mind. Sharp, loud, high, ringing. You don't know what it is but the noise is so inhuman it scares you. You dare to look down, and you see what you knew you might find. The blood, everywhere, anywhere, on you. The sound, the noise it's deafening it's—it's coming from you. Your mouth. The mouth you used to use to laugh with, to joke with, to smile with. Screaming for help, for someone to come. Of course people come, but you look through the faces and nothing is the one you want. She isn't there, she can't be there. she'll never be there again. It's not worth it, it just isn't can't be. What's it worth?

* * *

**A/N: So, hope you enjoyed it even though it might have been difficult to follow. Or understand. It's vague for a reason though. I guess I just wanted to focus more on the emotions then the actual actions. So tell me how you liked it! (Or didn't like it.) Review!**

**Thanks,**

**Awesomegirl13 **


End file.
